


Love Like a Steel Trap

by within_a_dream



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of idiot falls in love with a guy he's trying to get arrested?</p>
<p>Johnny, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Like a Steel Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/gifts).



> This work contains non-negotiated/unsafe BDSM, as well as non-consensual violence during sex, some dubcon elements, and canon-typical use of homophobic slurs.
> 
> Thanks for your great prompts, recip!

Johnny kept telling himself he was only doing this for the job, that he could stop whenever he wanted and not regret it, but he knew he was lying to himself. Carlito could be sweet, way sweeter than you’d expect a psychopathic drug lord to be. Even though he knew it was the way to madness, Johnny couldn’t help but feel sorry for him sometimes—shit, he’d be pretty messed up if Carlos Sr. had been _his_ father. And worst of all, Carlito was _so fucking hot_.

He hadn’t felt like this about other guys; or maybe he had? Never enough to act on it, anyway. Girls were great too, and if he was sleeping with women he didn’t have to worry about his career. (Maybe everyone at Graceland would be chill with it, maybe the director wouldn’t find out or wouldn’t care, but you never knew, right?) Except now that he was sleeping with Carlito (for the job, only for the job) he couldn’t ignore how hot it was. It didn’t matter how undercover you got, you couldn’t will yourself bi. What kind of idiot had a gay crisis over an international criminal? Johnny, apparently.

If Johnny’s crisis was bad, Carlito’s was catastrophic. And he could be nice, he could kiss Johnny and bring him flowers and tell him about his beautiful lips, but this was the man who’d pulled a gun on him, who’d tried to strangle his own sister. There wasn’t nothing safe about this. Being with Carlito was like juggling with knives, except the knives didn’t have handles, just twice as much blade.

Maybe just the sex wouldn’t have been that bad, but of course Carlito was kinky as fuck, and guilty as fuck about being kinky as fuck. Not kinky like when you bring a girl home from a bar and she wants you to bite her shoulder, either—kinky like he wanted Johnny to hit him hard enough to bruise. Of course, being neck-deep in _machismo_ , he couldn’t just say that. No, he had to lure Johnny into hurting him, and every time Johnny was afraid he’d go too far and end up dead.

Their second kiss—in Carlito’s room, after the fiasco at the bar—Johnny’s teeth caught Carlito’s split lip and Carlito hissed in pain. Johnny flinched away, but then Carlito full-on _moaned_ , the kind of moan Johnny had only heard in porn. Johnny leaned in to bite him again, thoughts spinning away from him. Then he shoved Carlito onto the bed, expecting resistance. Instead, he got a throat bared for him and a hand tugging him closer. The little voice in the back of his head still knew this was dangerous (it never shut up when he was with Carlito, kissing or not), but Johnny stopped _thinking_ so much about that.

He scraped his teeth across Carlito’s neck, felt his pulse under his lips. Then he started tugging off clothes, and if someone had told Johnny that one day Carlito Solano would be lying doe-eyed under him as Johnny unzipped his jeans, Johnny would’ve told them they were full of shit. Johnny got Carlito’s jeans off, then his own jeans, then dug his nails into Carlito’s hips.

“You’ve got no idea how much I want to fuck you.”

Johnny was worried that was going too far, but Carlito grinned and threw him a bottle of lube (where had that even _come_ from? Johnny must be more distracted than he’d thought).  He let Johnny take the lead, like he always did, but it had never made Johnny more nervous than it was now.  This was more than just screwing around. Johnny had the feeling that one wrong move could get him hurt, _really_ hurt, and it didn’t make him any less hard.

Well, fuck it. He was in bed with the son of a drug lord, who was biting his lip and looking up at Johnny like he belonged to him, and maybe Johnny didn’t care about safety.

Carlito grabbed Johnny’s hips and moaned as Johnny slid into him, and yeah, Johnny _definitely_ didn’t care about safety. He cared about his hands in Carlito’s hair, and the little noises he made every time Johnny tugged at a strand. Carlito was calmer than Johnny had ever seen him—this was different than the times he’d dragged Johnny into a threesome. He let Johnny do whatever he wanted, and it was _so fucking hot_. Which wasn’t that weird, really. Who wouldn’t be turned on by this terrifying person giving him sole control over them? It was a rush, guessing at how far he could go and then taking it just a bit farther. Carlito didn’t object to the hair-pulling, or Johnny’s too-hard grip on his sides. When Johnny, on an impulse, grabbed his nipple and pinched down, Carlito yelped and slid a hand down to his cock.

“Do that again, Johnny.”

Johnny planted one hand on Carlito’s chest for balance, and brought the other up to slap him across the face. “Did I say you could talk?”

He was worried for a moment that Carlito was going to snap at that. Sure, he’d gone along with things so far, but Johnny had seen what happened when he got pissed off. But, by some miracle of miracles, he sucked his lip into his mouth and curled his hands into fists around the sheets.

“That’s better.” Johnny ran a finger down the rapidly-reddening skin of Carlito’s cheek. “I’ll take care of you.” Which was straight-out-of-a-porno levels of cheesy, but Carlito didn’t seem to mind. Judging by his expression and the noises he was making, he wasn’t thinking about much of anything, much less analyzing Johnny’s dirty talk, which was fine by Johnny. It wasn’t like Johnny could think about much right now either. His capacity for thought was entirely focused on how tight Carlito was, and the feel of his cock in Johnny’s hand.

“What a slut,” Johnny murmured, stroking the head of Carlito’s cock with his thumb. “You’d do anything for this, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded, and stammered something that might have been a _yes_.

“Go on, then, beg for it!” His voice sounded ridiculous, all inflated ego and grandiosity, but Carlito shuddered and took in a jagged breath.

“Please.”

One word shouldn’t have taken Johnny’s breath away like this one did. Maybe it was the way Carlito said it, breathless and desperate. Maybe it was the way he grabbed at Johnny’s hands, his own hands shaking. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and no matter how crazy he could get, Carlito was hot. In any case, Johnny couldn’t refuse such a polite request. It only took a few strokes until Carlito came in his hand, biting his lip and trying very hard not to make a noise. He didn’t quite succeed, and when Johnny came moments later, Carlito’s quiet moan got louder.

Johnny kissed him, and for the first time he could remember, Carlito let him, sinking pliantly into the press of lips.

 

The tenderness didn’t last long. Johnny washed up and snuck out, and tried not to think about how gorgeous Carlito looked sprawled out on the bed, how relaxed he was when he thought no one was watching. Once he was out of sight of the house, he leaned against the nearest wall and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

So, this was a thing. A really hot thing, a thing that wasn’t making him nearly as guilty as it should. You weren’t supposed to fool around with criminals, and you especially weren’t supposed to get off on slapping them around. And he really shouldn’t have started thinking about it, because then Johnny couldn’t stop thinking about what he knew about Carlito’s father, and the look Carlito got on his face when he got himself hurt, and wonder just how much of this job so far had been playing into Carlito’s weird-ass fetishes.

He was going to have to spend some time thinking about this. _Actually_ thinking, not just jerking off to his memories of last night (however much he wanted to).  Maybe talking it over with someone at Graceland. They went to each other about the job, right? He didn’t have to tell them _everything_ , just enough for them to understand.

 

Paige was on the sofa when he walked in, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Busy night?

“You know Carlito, right? The guy I’m trying to get in with? Well, I definitely got into him, if you know what I mean.” He hadn’t meant for that to be a joke, but it was too late to stop his nervous laughter.

“Johnny!” Paige laughed, covering her mouth.

“So, Paige. You’ve done this before. How do you, you know, stop feeling so guilty?”

“I’ve done this before?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying something about me?”

“Aw, c’mon! You told me that female agents have to do this all the time. I figured I could ask for advice.”

She grinned. “Are you in love? Feeling bad about turning your boyfriend over to the FBI?”

Johnny hoped she couldn’t see the panic he was feeling. “You don’t ever feel bad, using someone’s feelings to get them arrested?”

“If he’s thinking with his dick, he has it coming. And Johnny, he’s dangerous. You know he needs to be taken out. If you need to get a little dirty to do it, that’s how the job goes. Go get ‘em, tiger!” She winked, and Johnny laughed so hard he choked.

“I’ve already got him. I’m that good.”

“Whatever you say,” she called after him. Johnny felt a little less guilty, at least as long as he didn’t think about the calm on Carlito’s face after Johnny had snuck out of the room. This was what they did. They were the good guys, Carlito was a bad guy, and it didn’t mean anything that Johnny was starting to warm up to the idea of hitting him. That was just part of the job.

 

Sometimes Carlito told Johnny useful things when they were in bed together, things Johnny could take to Graceland and bask in the glow of work well done.

Usually, he didn’t, and all Johnny could gain from the night was a few more entries for his growing mental encyclopedia of what turned Carlito on. He’d never been with one person for this long (how fucked-up was it that his most committed relationship was an FBI setup?), and he was finding there was a certain satisfaction in mapping out exactly how Carlito worked. Johnny could get him off in a minute, or he could drag it out all night. He could suck Carlito off, then fuck him when he was too boneless with pleasure to do anything but let out those hot little moans. He knew Carlito’s body like he knew his own, and he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he could get into Carlito’s head. Rookie mistake.

It wasn’t anything too stupid, just a snarled _You know you want it_. Nothing different than he’d said before—and you’d better believe Johnny analyzed it later, trying to figure out where he’d fucked up. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he hadn’t, that this had always been coming.

Carlito went from blissed-out to angry to on top of Johnny strangling him before Johnny even realized he’d said something wrong.

“You calling me a faggot?”

“Come on, man!” For a terrifying moment, Carlito didn’t loosen his grip. Then he let go, and Johnny rolled over, gasping.

“What the fuck?” It would have been better to stop talking, but Johnny had never been good at shutting up.

“I’m not a fucking faggot.”

“I know. I…I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that.”

“This is for you,” Carlito muttered as he kissed Johnny, hard enough to split Johnny’s lip on his teeth. “You’re the one who wants me.”

It wasn’t a lie to say yes to that. Johnny definitely wanted Carlito; he’d started to forget that Carlito wasn’t his boyfriend. This wasn’t a fucking prom date; this man was dangerous, and Johnny had gotten so wrapped up in his hard-on and his heart that he’d forgotten that.

Carlito fucked him, and Johnny didn’t object. He didn’t particularly enjoy himself; Carlito didn’t seem to either.

 

That really should have been the end of these goddamn ridiculous feelings, but apparently Johnny wasn’t getting out of this so easy. _At least there’s a deadline_ , he’d thought when he started out. _Once I put him away I can shove all this to the side._ But he was starting to doubt he’d be able to end things, even after Carlito was locked up—which was looking farther and farther away at this point anyway. The way things were going, Johnny would be investigating his—boyfriend? Lover? Investigating Carlito, whatever he was to Johnny, for the rest of his career, head-over-heels in love with him the entire time. It should probably worry him how unobjectionable that was starting to sound.

He’d just have to keep going, and deal with the love when it was necessary (preferably never, but Johnny wasn’t very good at lying to himself). He was in love with a criminal, and he was gonna have a bruise on his neck tomorrow, and there was nothing he could do about either of those.

 

 


End file.
